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He hated hospitals. Not because of the disease-ridden patients or clingy visitors but because of the chemical smell that hung on every wall, floor and chair in the damn place. He hated it. So he’d decided it was time to discharge himself.
He couldn’t be bothered waiting for the doc to tell him what was wrong with him in the morning - god only knew how long that would take. So, he slipped out of bed, bare feet cold on the tiled floor of the hospital room, and started to make his escape.
“Bloody freezing,” he murmured as he looked around in the dim light for his shoes and clothes. It was about eight o’clock at night in the middle of November. The sky had already turned to pitch black, and the winter rain thudded harshly against the glass of the ward windows.
Without making too much noise, he zipped up his denim jeans, pulled on his shirt and tattered jumper and slipped on his trainers before grabbing his measly winter coat and swiftly leaving the ward.
His eyes glazed over at the sleeping patients in their beds as he moved out into the hallway and quickly towards the stairwell. He was thankful that nobody stopped him, or even noticed him, as he moved down towards the ground floor and straight to the door.
He bypassed the stupid fountain in the reception area. It was ridiculous. Why people tossed away perfectly good coins was beyond him. Into a fountain!!
He thought for a moment and backtracked. Taking out enough change from the fountain to pay for his cab ride home.
“Ha, perfect,” he coughed to himself before moving through the sliding doors and out into the rain.
“Fucking weather,” he growled as he stuck a cigarette into his mouth and lit the end of it. He only had two drags before a taxi pulled up, and he hailed it down. Nobody else seemed to want to go for it so he walked over, tossed his half-smoked ciggy on the ground and slid into the backseat.
“Some weather, huh, you came at the right time, just got discharged, well, sort of, I kind of just left ya know, didn’t want to be waiting around on some lousy hospital bed, thing will do my back in…anyway, can you drop me off anywhere on the high street please love,” he said, and the driver gave a nod. No words, just a nod. He could respect that. He didn’t like talking to taxi drivers much. Didn’t mind talking at them but he hated small talk. How's the job going, or are ya busy?
What was the point?
Stupid conversation.
Conversation for simple-minded folks, he thought.
He’d just sit back and enjoy the ride home. Or at least to his street. He’d stop off at the liquor store on the way back to his apartment, and grab something to drink for the night. Maybe watch a movie. He hoped his cat was alright.
The driver put her car in gear and took off onto the road, swinging around the large roundabout that was centred in front of the city’s largest hospital. Rain pelted the windscreen like a violent spray of bullets. The wipers doing their best to quickly wipe away the downpour of heavy rain.
The silence was deafening to the man, even when he hated small talk. He watched the driver closely, finding it difficult to describe her in his head. It was a woman, yes, a very beautiful woman and if he was thirty years younger, hell even twenty, he’d have had some lines to swing her way.
He watched her closely, her eyes hidden in the shadow of a peaked baseball cap and behind a pair of black sunglasses. She was dressed in a thick winter coat with a black-furred hood. A plaid shirt could be seen creeping beneath the jacket, and the man dared not try and move to peer at what she was wearing beneath the steering wheel. What he did note was the black leather driving gloves that she wore, her grip firm on the wheel as she turned the street corners, one after another.
“My street was back there, I think anyway, should have been, we’ve been driving for bout twenty minutes or so…miss, you listening to me,” he said to her, and she glanced at him in the rearview mirror only to shake her head.
“Tha ain yer schtap,” she told him simply, her voice an echoed amalgamation of static and silence. What was that accent? American perhaps. He couldn’t tell. It was so, distorted.
“My god…are ya sick, you don’t have some flu do ya, I don’t wanna be back in hospital,” he said and folded his arms before staring out the window. Oh, maybe that wasn’t his stop, or schtap as she’d so politely put it. He sighed and leaned back, his eyes looking into the abyss of rainfall. No matter how hard he squinted, he couldn’t really make out the street he was on. It was all a wet blur of stormy weather and city lights.
Sinking back into the seat, he thought about his cat. She was at home now, probably curled up in a bundle, toasty and warm, he’d give her some milk once he was in. Milk for her and a nice beer for himself. Sounded perfect.
“You should stop all that drinking, you’ll drink yourself into an early grave,” he mumbled, quoting his late wife on her persistence. Ain't nothing wrong with a couple of bottles now and then. Besides, she was a saint, not a drop of liquor in her life and look where that got her. Dead and buried at fifty-two.
Yea, he was buying a six-pack when he got to the shop. Maybe two. He needed a good long drink and some late night shows. Tomorrow he’d go for a walk, maybe even clean the house.
“How much longer we got on this ride, feel like we’re going around in circles,” he said his voice slightly raised now. He was bored of being in this taxi. He glared at the driver, her eyes still hidden behind the dark glasses even though it was pissing it down.
“Can you even see those things, you know where we’re going, you’re probably new or something…hey are you listening to me?” he growled not giving her a chance to answer before he moved to lean forward, looking closely at the driver and noticing now how gaunt she looked. Her cheeks were sunken, and her frame was small, but her grip on the steering wheel was tight.
“Sit back,” she spoke, not turning her head to look at him but remaining fixated on the road ahead. “We are almost there.”
Almost there. They’d been driving for what felt like an hour now, and it did not take an hour to get to the main street, not from the hospital anyway. Definitely not. He’d driven it many times before. Even during the five o’clock traffic, it took twenty minutes tops. He remembered being stuck in traffic on the way to the hospital with Francine, his wife, in the passenger seat. Her water had just broken, and they were trying their best to get to the hospital. From roadworks to angry workers on their way home from their nine-to-five, the journey had been the longest car trip of his entire life. Or at least one of the longest. This one was starting to creep into first place.
They had got to the hospital anyway, and Francine had their little baby girl Josie. She was a doll. A perfect baby. She was a lawyer now, working for some big company in the big city. He hadn’t seen her in a few years. She had her own family now. Plus, ever since Francine passed away, Josie hadn’t really bothered with him. Or that’s what it felt like. He’d been in and out of hospital, but she’d never come to check on him, not even a phone call. But how could he blame her? He had nothing to give her, not anymore.
After another ten…twenty, hell, maybe it was more. He’d lost track of time at this stage, stuck in this infernal taxi looping around whatever god-forsaken road they were on. Was this how they got money out of people? Ran the metre until passengers were completely fucking dry. He should have taken more change from the fountain.
“How much longer this gunna take, aye? I got things to do, ya know, I feel like it’s been an eternity already,” he grumbled, starting to wonder if this was some sort of scam taxi or one of those practical jokes he’d seen so frequently on the telly.
“We are almost there,” she replied, her hidden eyes remaining transfixed on the road ahead. He sat back and looked out the window, watching the rain flash by, and it was then he noticed the lack of lights outside the cab. There weren't any lights. Just torrential rain, pouring and banging against the glass. They were out of the city.
“Hey, this some kind of joke, you tell me where we’re going, now, I demand to know…it’s my right ya know, stop this car, stop it!” he shouted and unbuckled his belt to lean in towards her. He shook her shoulder and was shocked by the feeling. Like bone. It was covered in clothes, sure, the padding he could feel, but underneath it was jagged and sharp like he was gripping into hard bone.
He looked at her in confusion, and she stopped the car. She looked towards him, the handbrake up and the engine still running.
“You wanna ge out?” she asked him, her static-like voice cracking with each syllable, and he nodded.
“Aight, ge out,” she said, and the door to his right opened as if an invisible and unknown force had opened it for him. “Ya can walk the rest of the way.”
The man glanced at her before he slipped out of the car into the torrential rain. He wasn’t going to pay, but he didn’t even get a chance before the car’s doors slammed shut and the vehicle rushed off, the tyres not making a single noise on the wet ground.
Before taking a moment to collect his thoughts, he looked around. There were rows and rows of trees, an endless forest that whispered and wailed in the dark. Trees bent in the wind and fought back against the storm. He raised his arm to shield his eyes from the downpour and looked around. Twisting on the road in an attempt to figure out which way was back to the city. What did she mean by almost there? Almost where!? This was not where he’d asked to be dropped off.
“Should have stayed in the bloody hospital,” he grumbled before deciding to walk along the road in the direction the car had gone. Maybe there was a service station he could stop at, get a phone to call somebody. But who? His daughter? Fat chance she’d even take his call.
He continued to grumble as he walked along what he presumed was a soft dirt road. He was starting to wonder how a car even managed to get up here. It was difficult terrain, all these trees, and the path was barely big enough for one car. What was she going to do if she had to overtake a car or pass by another? Come to think of it. He hadn’t seen any cars. No glimmering headlights, just more trees. Wallowing in the wind.
He started to stumble into the forest. Not by choice, not really. He felt he was being pulled there by some invisible and powerful force that was determined to encage him into an endless and lonely existence - not too unfamiliar for the broken man. Glancing around at the trees, he turned back towards the road, it was a great distance away now. When had he wandered so far off the path?
“Fuck this,” he grumbled.
“You lost,” an echoey voice said suddenly, and he nearly had a heart attack.
“Jesus Christ,” he stammered and turned around to see a raven-haired person standing there. They were tall, really tall. At least six foot five. They loomed over the man, silver eyes staring down at him, judging him. That’s what it felt like, anyway. The person was dressed in a pair of tight leather trousers that faded seamlessly into black boots. Their shirt was tucked messily into the waistband. It was a white, light-looking garment that bellowed in the wind, revealing a flat chest covered in gorgeous silver tattoos. It must have been the lack of light because they seemed to spiral and move around their body.
“Not quite,” the silver-eyed being replied.
“Not quite?”
“I’m not quite, Jesus Christ. He died many, many years ago, nice guy, unfortunate he got caught up in all that messiah business, really messed the poor guy up.”
“I’m sorry, who are you…?”
The man looked at the silver-eyed person with intrigue. Now noticing that their clothes, hair and skin were completely dry. The rain was somehow missing them entirely.
“I have many names, really, but that’s beside the point. Looks like my driver dropped you off too soon. She’s going through a rough spot these days…bad breakup, you know how it is,” they said, their arm looping around the man’s shoulder, the rain now missing him. He stared up at the being next to him, utterly confused by what was happening as the other led them back to the safety of the road.
“It’s John, isn’t it, John Stevenson? Yes, I believe Francine is waiting for you,” they continued, their voice soft as they walked. John frowned as he started to piece together what was happening.
“Francine…oh, I see…so I’m dead,” he said, and the being nodded, about to reply before John spoke up again. “How come it’s raining? Rain is miserable, you know. Couldn’t you have a nice drive through the Lakelands or something?”
They laughed at John’s outburst and looked at him with wonder in their godly eyes.
“How very British of you, John Stevenson, figure out you’ve passed on and complain about the weather.”
“Well, you’re death, aren’t you? Can’t you make it sunny or something,” he asked as he moved to just walk beside him, the rain falling around them in a dome-like way, dripping down the sides as they walked. It was fascinating to watch, and John found himself staring at it in intrigue and awe.
“It’s not my department, unfortunately, yes, I am death, as you so put it, Azrael, you may call me, but this isn’t my domain. It’s what you humans would know as limbo, the in-between if I hadn’t come to get you, you could have ended up within the trees of souls, lost forever, aimlessly walking and enveloped in sorrow and confusion,” he told John as they continued to walk.
Now that he was with this being, this death, he could see the light, the end and potentially, his new life. He wasn’t sure how death worked. Heaven seemed to be out the window, he didn’t see any pearly gates or singing angels. He was happy he’d never gotten deep into that catholic shite.
After a moment of silence, Azrael continued.
“...but luckily, I caught you when I did. Francine would not have been pleased if I left her husband to wander this plain for eternity.”John tilted his head as they walked before stopping. Azrael turned around to look at him and frowned.
“Is everything alright, John Stevenson?” he asked.
“Francine…she’s really waiting, for me,” John asked in turn, and Azrael smiled before moving to him and taking his hand.
“She’s been waiting patiently for a long time now, John, and now is when you start anew, come, it will be okay,” he promised, and John wasn’t sure why but he trusted this strange god of death and followed them to the end of the endless road and towards the light.
“Wait,” John exclaimed, stopping once more, and Azrael looked at him with a flash of concern. Was something wrong? Had he decided to turn back? He’d be lost in the sea of trees, alone forever. They knew that John had had a difficult life, but they were positive Francine would be happy to see him. They knew she would. He was all she talked about whenever he visited, and their daughter, of course.
“My cat, what about Jerome,” John eventually said, and Azrael let out a sigh of relief and then shook their head.
“Don’t worry, John. I think Jerome will be in a good home,” Azrael assured, and John let out a relieved sigh of his own.
“Oh, well, that’s good. I wouldn’t want her to be lonely. I think I’m ready now…thank you,” he told them, and they left the wayward path and the wallowing forest of trees.
“I’m so sorry to hear about your father, Josie. Were you close?” a friend asked Josie as they sipped coffee in Josie’s front room and nibbled on expensive biscuits.
“Not so much, we used to be when mum was around, but we grew apart,” Josie replied sadly, smiling as a large ginger tabby cat leapt onto the couch and kneaded Josie’s lap. She scratched the cat’s head lovingly and looked back at her friend.
“So, how are the kids?”